How to Fade
by somethingblue22
Summary: I feel my sister’s presence in my bones and her absence in my stomach. The peach pit of grief lodged in my throat that this town will never see or understand. And that broken record in my head— what happened to Rose? AU vampires
1. The Last Time

I'm new to creative writing. Let me know if this is awful or if I should continue. I don't own Twilight characters, but this will be a vampy story if I continue. 

March 2008

Even from the access road, the base emitting from Royce's truck rattles the walls of the trailer. Dogs in the street announce the arrival of Rosalie, excusing peace from the neighbors.

I know she will stumble through the door wearing some sort of secret smile framed by candy apple matte from Walmart. Shoplifted cosmetics always appearing expensive on her face.

The walls are violent by the time Royce pulls into the yard, rap music bumping and shaking the full length mirror attached to the back of the closet door. Light from the reflecting street lamp dances across the room in a glowing-green disco and I decide that I'm not going to pretend she didn't wake me.

I roll over to plug in the string of Christmas lights hanging above our bed, my eye catching the ancient Hello Kitty alarm clock on the dresser.

3:35 AM.

At least dawn isn't creeping across the room. It's a school night.

The symphony continues in a roar of laughter and the smash of a beer bottle meeting gravel as the truck door creeks open— more laughter and the lovely sound of her voice.

"Oh, fuck off!"

And more joy, cackling and yelling.

Then came the graceful stomps and stumbles of her heals on the porch steps, a slump against the front door as she balances to take them off.

Phil is passed out in the recliner and the TV keeps him lulled in unconsciousness, but I'm sure half of the park is awake.

Now she tries to be considerate?

She attempts to tip-toe down the hall then pauses. I know that she sees the streak of light beneath the door. Caution to the wind, she covers the remaining distance quickly and swings the door open.

The secret smile is there against her flushed face with her golden hair in a wild halo. Her blue eyes are bright and glassy around her dilated pupils.

She leans back and closes her eyes, dropping her heals by her side, and smiling wider than before.

My sister— always with the grand entrance.

Her mouth forms a mischievous line as she opens her eyes and trains them on me.

"Belly Beeaan! I know you've been waiting up for me. I came through for you." She slinks toward the bed and throws herself across the foot, spreading out her arms and I notice the bag in her hand.

Taco Bell.

She is happy tonight.

When she sees that my expression hasn't changed she reaches into her bra and pulls out a sandwich baggie full of bud.

She adds quickly, "And I thought I would give you another rolling lesson."

I hate that I can feel the corners of my mouth lifting. I hate that this excites me.

"For you're information, I was studying." I retort.

This was a lie. I found myself focusing on school less and less these days.

"Whatever, 8th graders don't need to study."

"Yeah, and apparently seniors don't need to either."

I make jokes like this. She dropped out a year ago.

She giggles at my insult, reaching into the bag and tossing me a burrito— no shame in her game.

"Okay Bella, sorry I'm not another brick in the wall." She retorts.

I watch my sister strip down to her underwear, revealing the thorned rose inked across her shoulder on a backdrop of flawless tan. I grow jealous of her as I recall dabbing toothpaste on a pimple earlier in the evening.

But only for a moment.

She works her way around the room, bringing it to life. A candle is lit with her favorite Marylyn Monroe lighter, while she fiddles with the boom box. Low, angry music floats through the air as she she plucks a cigarillo from her jewelry box sauntering back to the bed.

"Alright Bells, so I think the key to a good blunt lies within the split. This is why you should grow your nails out."

I watch as her paint chipped, sparkling nails work their way down the paper, the innards falling onto the magazine below. She constructs the blunt with the keen eye of an artist, licking the paper, lighting it with care, concentrating on this more than she would anything.

The embers make her face glow as the blunt ignites. She finishes with a French inhale and passes it.

I grab the blunt eagerly and inhale. I choke until tears run down my face and the ringing in my ears drowns out Rose's laughter as I keel forward to let her pat my back.

"Bella can't ha-annng" she sings, handing me a cup of water from the nightstand. I giggle, which makes me choke harder before I calm down and sit up. The room spins for a moment before it settles in a beautiful vail.

In these moments I felt like less of a child, if I ever was one. Paper had always been waiting to be perched between my fingers.

This time last year I was a _Harry Potter_ reading seventh grader who wore D.A.R.E T-shirts. One day I woke up and I was a habitual pot smoker.

Curiosity had killed the cat.

And we laugh some more.

And I am so happy my sister didn't spend the night with Royce.

"Do you work tomorrow?" I ask after a few moments of puffing and passing.

"No, but I did get a modeling gig in Seattle."

Rose looks away as she lies. She had been an aspiring model since dropping out two years ago. I don't know where she went during these photo shoots, but I do know that I have yet to see any of her work or any of the extra cash. She insists she has invested in a manager, who I haven't met.

"Can you and Royce pick me up from school after? I'm staying for extra credit so I won't make the bus."

"Yeah," she exhales "If not I can get Angela to."

She hits the blunt a second time, skipping me, and picks some polish from her thumb with her index finger.

I don't question her lies.

She rises and walks from the bed to the window, letting the broken blinds down and tacking up the sheet that hangs around the frame— keeping her truth from peeping inside.

"After this takes off, I'll be good to take care of both of us in the next year. I can gain power of attorney so that no one else will have custody of you. Including the state." Her back is turned to me and I can't read her face "La Bella is one shit show of a restaurant. It's fucking slow right now, but I know shit is about to take off for me. We could buy a car so I could drive you to school."

Rose also insists that the modeling will buy us a new apartment in town. One that Renee doesn't have the address to.

"Bells, you better say goodbye to Rosie the waitress."

Her statement makes me frown. I was proud of her for keeping the job at La Bella. Plus, I often wondered why I hadn't said goodbye to her yet. She was an now an adult who decided against school. Nothing kept her here, sneaking past a drunk man and climbing into our bed. Nothing stopped her from purchasing an apartment in Port A with her tip money.

Except for me.

I feel a heaviness settling across my chest and I do not enjoy this feeling when I'm high.

"Oh fuck, I almost forgot!"

I'm pulled from my shadowing thoughts as Rosalie saunters to her giant bohemian hag-bag of wonders and reaches in, producing something that shines under the Christmas lights.

She comes up behind me, lifting my hair and places it around my neck. I feel the pendent on my collarbone and look down to observe it.

A silver Tinker Bell with a green gem dress and a small sparkle at the end of her wand. The necklace looks fake yet lovely. Rose has an affinity for shop lifting even though she makes money, often bringing me evidence of her crimes— little gifts. She had been caught several times in her teens so she slowed down a bit in her new adulthood.

For a second, I wonder if it's stolen, and in the next I don't care where it came from.

"I love it."

Tinker bell was one of her pet names for me. She had whispered it in my ear as a baby and laid me across her tiny legs to watch me suckle at the edge of a formula can.

I don't remember this of course, but she had reminded my mother in screaming arguments. She was the five year old that fed me when Renee was so toasted not even colic would stir her.

"I knew you would! And there will be more where that came from."

Warmth spreads across my chest, radiating from the necklace.

"Thank you, Rose."

Another blunt and one per-pressured sip from her flask later, she paints my nails black and we talk about Royce's cousin, Mike. He had turned fifteen tonight, motivating them to get plastered. He comes in with Royce to sit in Rose's section and stares at me as I do homework at the host stand. I can feel a tug in the pit of my stomach under his gaze but I am not sure if I like it.

Rose snorts mid description of the evening, "Dude, he would not stop asking where you were. I told him to keep his dick away from you. Spikey Mikey has a dumbass haircut and he's too old for you."

"I'll be fourteen this year!" I blush.

"My point exactly."

I smile and forget what we were talking about.

She's far from sober and still manages to draw a perfect white heart across my right thumbnail. I observe the same amount of concentration that went into rolling the blunt.

There is a bit of brightness peering beneath the sheet covered window and I yawn. She places the the nail polish on the night stand as I blow on my fingers. She grabs her bubbler from under the bed, lighting the half smoked contents and reclining.

"Morning, Tinker Bell." She smirks.

"Morning, Rose."

This is a running joke made at the end of an all nighter. Overcast sunrise stretches a little further across the floor.

"Sorry I kept you up."

And with her apology, she closes her eyes and passes out.

I'm touched in my buzzed state. Turning to Rose, I pull her cheetah print comforter over her shoulders.

"It's okay." I whisper.

My eyes make a quick sweep across her arms. No marks in site.

It is light out and I tell myself that I need to go to school. I'm too high and the sip of whiskey had not helped. Getting dressed takes a huge amount of effort, but I have a test second period.

I blow out the candle and gather the Taco Bell garbage. The bag is empty when I pick it up and I realize that she only brought one burrito home. She had gotten one just for me or sacrificed her own. The bag crumples in my hands with care as I walk down the hallway, passing Phill in the living room, still out of it.

I throw away the trash and grab a red bull from the fridge before taking a cigarette from a pack on the counter, tucking it safely behind my ear. I can smoke it on the way to my bus stop.

As I'm leaving, I notice the open bedroom door. I walk down the hallway to close it, pausing when I see that Rose has rolled over and is looking at me under low lids.

I wave and she smiles one more pretty smile before ducking back underneath the comforter.

I'm jealous that she will continue to sleep, and for a moment I'm tempted to say "fuck it" and lay back down beside her. But instead I close the door gently, and leave for school.

If I could go back in time, I would of crawled back into bed and held her. I would of let her heartbeat be my lullaby. I would of known what happened next.


	2. The Day Of

March 2008

Jessica smacks her gum in concentration as she carefully transfers vodka from a flask to a plastic water bottle. She occasionally fixes her gaze across the court yard on the teeming patio of Forks High. We'll be on that patio next year, being observed and admired by middle schoolers from afar.

We watch Mike and his friends skateboard between the picnic tables, grinding down railed staircases.

They are good— screaming the word "fuck" when they land improperly. Sweaty, crazy hair with wild eyes.

Mike glances at me without turning his head in my direction. Rose said he was asking about me last night.

Jessica blows a bubble and bites it in one motion before taking a swig of vodka and handing me the bottle. I take a sip, leaning back against the bricks.

"So are you coming to Lauren's today or no?" Jessica asks.

"When?"

"I guess after school. My parents get home at five so I kind of wanted to cut last period and go early. We are meeting at the gas station."

We had to do everything around Jessica's parents. They loved her.

"I'm supposed to stay and tutor for extra-credit. I've got a ride and everything." I reply.

Jessica's face twists up more than usual. She always looks like she just sucked on a lemon to begin with.

"Bella, you do not need to do any fucking extra credit. You're not failing."

I wasn't. Mrs. Cope, the school counselor, was concerned about me losing my straight A status. I didn't want her asking any questions.

I ignore Jessica's huffing as I fiddle with an iPod shuffle that Rosalie had given me for Christmas, tapping and staring at it as if it had a screen. I did not want to deal with her.

Jessica was spoiled. She wore shoes from Journeys and clothes from Hot Topic. Her parents let her dye her hair, pierce her cartilage, and own a cell phone. All the while she continued to hate them.

I mentally filed Jessica under "angry because I'm bored." It was her entire reasoning for hanging out with me. She wanted to ditch the prep-in-training status she developed last year and piss off her ex-cheerleading, former beauty queen of a mother. It frustrates me that she is the person I talk to most next to Rosalie and Angela.

But then I pity her desperation and relate to it in a way. Plus, she paid for most everything we did together with her allowance, including getting fucked up.

"I think Mike Newton fully wants it."

I can hear her statement loud and clear over the skipping music in my ears. My head snaps up and I see his blue eyes set in a cute face, just a bit of baby fat left in his cheeks. The spiked hair is ridiculous— he might as well frost his tips.

It works for him somehow.

His lips pull into a slight smile before he wipes the sweat from his brow with the bottom of his hoodie, lifting his T-shirt and revealing his hips for a split second.

I look down before he can catch me staring. I can feel the heat on my face and tops of my ears.

Oh, my God. I must be on one. No way is he considering me.

Jessica giggles beside me and thankfully the bell signaling first period blares over the speakers before she can say anything about what just occurred.

I shoot to my feet, swinging my backpack over my shoulder.

"Let me know if you change your mind!" Jessica yells.

Later

"Miss Swan."

I'm awake.

I first register the drool on my cheek before I recognize Mr. Clapp hovering over me. His clammy forehead illustrates agitated lines that merge into his baldness, a red mustash concealing what I'm sure is a frown.

A projector hums— the white noise that soothed me— casting equations on a cloth screen. The room is dark and cool, but I can feel all of the eyes.

"I think I've given you plenty of warnings. Take your snoring to the office." He places a pink slip on my notebook. My ears ring with embarrassment as I step into consciousness.

"I have to stop what I am doing so that I can wake you up...waisting the time of students who want to learn!" he speaks at me over the snickering room "This is an honors class for honor students, and I expect nothing less or you can kiss next year's AP courses goodbye!"

I cannot stand it. I tell myself that his lecture is nothing to me.

He is justified. I shouldn't have fallen asleep.

Why do I want to spit in his face?

I observe the squiggly characters scrawled across my notes, evidence that I had dozed off. I bite my tounge, not daring to look up.

Fuck.

I quickly take the slip while his voice settles, closing my notebook.

Quick get away.

My stomach drops as a I stand, slip in hand, and escape the shame that is being publicly scolded. I do not enjoy being the center of attention. The door may of slammed behind me, and I didn't stick around to find out if it had.

My legs carry me quickly toward the bathroom, outrunning the heat on my face. The hallway seems miles long, decked in floresent lighting and bright posters that hurt my eyes and make my head pound. I can feel my pulse in my teeth.

When I reach the dim pea-green bathroom I sigh in relief, throwing my bag to the ground, avoiding the mirrors, and making a beeline for the toilet. The alcohol and stomach acid burn my nose as I retch.

It is a release, reassuring me that I have purged and can begin again.

The porcelain cools my cheek as I watch a bead of sweat drop into my vomit from the tip of my nose. After a few minutes of peace I rise to my knees and flush.

I want so much to go to the nurse and lay down. Will they notice?

No, get you're shit together Bella.

Jessica and I had passed the water bottle during second period.

My nails dig into my palms.

I want to leave, but they will call home. They will ask questions about home. They will investigate the situation.

It's times like these I wish I had a phone to call Rose. She would forge a note from my mother and pick me up; tell me I'm too smart for this and take me to McDonald's. I fantasize about my rescue. And to think— school had once been a haven for me.

The bathroom stall formed a prison cell.

Darting my eyes, I look for an escape from the claustrophobia.

Tossed aside in my hurry to make it, the slip resting next to my foot grabs my attention. The pink piece of paper mocks me, and I am revitalized in my anger.

Fuck Clapp.

I crumple the slip and throw it in the toilet.

Fuck it all.

I'm out.


	3. Later That Day

Hall monitors report back to the office to grab their books right before periods switch. Most people know this, if you know anything at all. I slip out a side entrance as the fifth bell rings, my escape lost in the flood of students.

The feeling of being chased.

Adrenaline protecting me as I cross the parking lot without looking. I speed walk through a maze of parked yellow buses, finally opening to the currently deserted highway. I increase my pace to a jog as I hug the shoulder, enjoying the spring mist on my face. Laughter surfaces with the rise and fall of my chest.

I am free.

As I round a bend in the road I see the gas station, practically glowing against the dense rainforest. I speed up once again.

This was a meeting place after school. We buy snacks and smoke in the woods behind the building. The clerk sells cigarettes and rilos to high school kids who will score for you if you give them enough money.

Once I reach the pumps I feel the sudden need to hide, lurching behind a dumpster. I place my hands on my knees, trying to calm my panting.

I look to the left then to my right.

Mike Newton and Eric Yorkey stand in the alley behind the station.

There is a silence filled with the sound of my wheezing. I'm embarrassed once again.

It's the smoking.

Their eyes drink me and I wonder if they see the same awkwardness as I do in my daily reflection. I must be sweaty and red faced, hands on knobby knees poking through the holes in my jeans.

Mike stares. It is different from the stolen glances across the quad and at my sister's job. I watch as his lips pull up around the blunt that hangs from his lips and I feel dizzy.

Eric hawks a loogie across our moment.

"You're friends with that thirsty eigth grader." Eric says.

Mike quickly gives him a shot in the stomach and Eric keels forward, laughing at his own comment.

I'm even more uncomfortable than before.

"She's Rose's sister."

Eric straightens and controls himself.

I do the same, a sudden confidence coming over me. Yes, I am Rose's sister: not to be fucked with.

"What's up?"

Mike's question pulls me from my pep talk.

Their faces are searching and confused... because I need to speak.

 _What would Rose and Angela say? Hell, what would Jessica say?_

Word vomit.

"Uh, just ditching I guess." My voice wavers. Real smooth.

What the fuck just came out of my mouth?

"Right." Eric spits again.

Yet Mikes smile is still wide, wider even.

"Cool, well do you wanna ditch with us? We're headed to Eric's to chill for a bit. Probably gonna go to the skate park later."

I feel as if he is talking to someone behind me, not myself. The kind of thirteen year old girl who gets asked to chill with high school boys.

I remember myself.

"Umm... I would but I think I need to be back here later. Either Royce and Rose or Angela are gonna pick me up."

"That's fine. Hey, how about I just text Royce and let him know I got you." Mike flips open his phone and his fingers move quickly over the keys. He doesn't wait for my reply.

He's got me.

"Alright." I decide.

That baby faced smile.

"Oh-kayy" Eric drawls, "now that that's all cleared up, let's get the fuck out of here. Tyler should be pulling up any minute."

As if on cue, Tyler's beaten van honks in the station parking lot, beckoning us. I fall into step with Mike and Eric, dragging behind them bit— just following really.

As Tyler's vehicle comes into view, I recall the conversation I had with Jessica this morning. For a moment I feel guilty; I had lied to her in my own way. Things like this matter so much to her, and I hate to believe that it excites me in the same way... but it does. She believes that I'll be sitting in a classroom while she skips next period without me. I almost wish that she was here to talk over any awkward silences. But the exhilaration of the situation is too great— pushing through my anxiety.

Jessica will be fine.

Eric slides the van door open and we are met with smell of stale marijuana and a group of people I've only seen before. Tyler's older cousin, Ben, sits shot gun of course, while ninth gader named Bri sits in the seat directly behind Tyler. I know her as the pretty Asian girl who lives in my park and buys bud from Royce. We've never spoken.

She looks me up and down with dark eyes before looking forward again.

Eric jumps in the seat next to her, poking her in the side. She smiles but doesn't turn to face him.

"Scoot." Mike orders.

Eric doesn't argue, placing his hands on Bri's hips and helping her rise so that he can slide beneath her. She plops down on his lap and his hands tighten.

I inspect the back of the van, nervously searching for a place to sit. The seats have been folded to accommodate fold-out chairs, a rolled up rug and some garbage.

Mike brushes my back as he slinks behind me, making my decision for me as he takes my hand, sweaty palms, and guides me into the van and on to his lap. My heart climbs up my esophagus and sits in my throat. I'm perched on his knees, and when his fingers fold around my hip, leaning me back, my stomach summer-salts, heat rushing. My face is so hot, the barely-there air conditioning feels like ice, goose bumps rising with the hair on the back of my neck where his breath hits.

I am sober instantly— alive.

I come to, and we are speeding down the highway, music blaring, beating with the fast pace of my heart. Eric mimicks Eminem's voice as he recites "Drug Ballad" word for word, making Bri laugh.

I feel a smile on my face. We drive so fast.

We exit and turn into a decent looking apartment complex that sits off the access road, like most buildings in this area.

I can still feel Mike beneath me and I panic, not wanting the ride to end. I'm just getting used to it all.

I would have to ruin this moment by speaking.

We park next to a pool, and I'm in a trance as Mike takes his hand off my hip and slides the van door open. I immediately leap out of the van. My back is sweaty and I feel the loss of him beneath me, yet I'm relieved. I can think for myself once again.

Eric unlocks the door to an apartment and we file in behind him.

It's a nice, clean place. Pictures of Eric at different ages line the walls.

"My mom gets off at six." Eric states, grabbing a can of air freshener and spraying it around Tyler as he leads us down the hall way. Tyler slaps it out of his hand and Eric giggles at himself.

Eric is annoying, and his room is disgusting. I don't know why I was intimidated before.

I say nothing as we sit around Eric's bed and Mike begins to grind some bud.

"Nose goes!" Bri exclaims, placing her finder on her nose.

Eric and Mike follow suit. Tyler ignores her and Ben rolls his eyes.

"Bella."

Ben says my name and embarrassingly enough I can feel myself jump.

"I nominate you." Ben hands me a rolling tray and a pack of rilos. I remember why he knows my name. He goes with Angela sometimes and I've definitely seen him at my place before. He smiles at me and I'm comforted and panicking all at once.

 _Just be Rose_.

My hands shake as I take the tray. For the second time today, all eyes are on me. I see Bri's frown from the corner of my eye.

 _Just be Rose_.

I can hear my pulse in my ears as I concentrate on splitting the blunt. Tool plays lightly in the background and I focus on rifts, rolling with my sister's artistic eye. It was like being thrown into a lake without floaties, told to sink or swim.

I was swimming.

We spark up and it burns slow and smooth. Mike smiles at me again.

Bri takes a hit before myself, turning to pass to me. We make eye contact as I take the blunt from her and her thin lips pull up in a slight smirk. In that moment, we develop a trust. She knows we come from the same place.

We laugh, pass, and make fun of Eric. The higher I get, the easier speaking becomes.

"I've seen you around." Bri says.

"Yeah, at the park."

Duh Bella.

"Crazy we've never hung out."

I'm shocked by her statement

"But you're always with that emo chick that eye-fucks my boyfriend."

My face heats up and I realize I am not blushing for myself but for Jessica.

"She's not so bad." I say "she just wants friends." I'm shocked by my defense of her. She would probably throw me under the bus if roles were reversed.

Bri nods her head.

"That's cool you don't talk shit."

I'm flattered by her compliment, my back straightening.

Tyler rises from the bed and walks toward his backpack.

"I gotta go soon. You want this shit still?" Tyler asks, turning toward Mike.

"Not if it doesn't actually have promo in it. I just fell asleep last time." Mike says.

There is tension.

"You want it or not?" Tyler's voice is hard and I'm suddenly aware of how big he is compared to Mike and Eric.

Mikes jaw sets and his brow furrows in annoyance as he produces money from his pocket.

Tyler pulls water bottles full of purple liquid out of the bag, setting them on Eric's dresser.

"Make you're own shit next time." Tyler zips the backpack and swings it over his shoulder. Ben sits up and walks toward the door following Tyler.

I don't want Ben to leave.

"I'll show you gentleman out." Eric breaks the tention and rises.

Before Ben goes he turns and looks at Mike in a way I can't dissect. Mike raises his brow at him.

"I will see you later Bella." Ben says this, still staring at Mike.

"Yes you will." Mike replies.

What the fuck?

Ben looks at me one more time before disappearing from the doorway. Bri is the only person keeping me from being alone with Mike. I'm bitter and grateful at the same time.

So many contradictions today.

Mike relaxes once they are gone and grabs one of the bottles off the dresser.

"You ever leaned before Bella?" He asks

I rack my brain. What is leaning? I examine the bottle. Have I seen this before? I try to replay images of substances I've seen Phill and Renee consume. Maybe Rose has. Perhaps it's just a type of alcohol.

Eric barges back into the room.

"Sip sippin on that syzuuurp." He sings, wiggling his body in a ridiculous way.

He's quoting a rap lyric. It clicks in my head. Of course, it's what Lil Wayne's got in his cup.

"Like purp?" I ask.

Mike wags his brows.

"Exactly."

They begin taking swigs and I'm nervous. I wonder if the high is like being drunk. What time is it?

Bri once again passes to me. She examines my face.

"Just take it easy." She prompts me to sip by tilting her head.

Mike is staring as well.

And in this moment I'm right back on the bathroom floor at school.

Fuck it.

I'm in.


	4. At The Time Of

Thanks for reading everyone! I decided to continue the story and try to improve my writing. I'm kind of playing it by ear because I have never really written like this. I'm moving right now so sorry for the slow update. I should warn you that drug use, addiction, and other violent and unpleasant topics will be present in this story. Bella is thirteen in the story right now, but this happens all the time at that age. Let me know what you think of the story.

What time is it?

It's still light out.

Do I feel anything?

I try my best not to question every breath.

A song stops and starts again through Eric's stereo system, making my limbs jump in surprise. I watch the movement of my arms without any effort or sensation. There must be a smile on my face as well, goofy and numb.

The headboard I lean against swallows me as a flower blooms in my chest.

Eric throws a dirty sock at Bri and she finds it funny. It is funny. I take back all the judgments I made against Eric. He's a fucking comedian.

My abdomen constricts as I laugh and take another swig. I feel the muscles working together.

I feel everything.

Another sip.

Another gulp. Tastes like Jolly Rancher.

What time is it?

"Hey," Bri takes the bottle "you're not Pimp C."

I don't get the joke but I laugh anyway.

"She's fuckin goofy." Eric waves his hand toward me "Lean is a weak opiate in the first place. I'm sure there is no more than a hundred milligrams of promethazine in this shit and it's overpriced."

Perhaps he's making fun of me. I can't bring myself to care.

"Then why the fuck are you drinking it? You sip on it anyway. Bella took it down fast like you should of." Mike defends me and I feel giddy.

"I've got some candy."

Eric and Mike snap their heads toward Bri and the room becomes a frenzi of Eric gathering money from various hiding places around his room.

"You love me enough to share a bit?" Eric asks when he doesn't produce much cash.

Bri smiles slowly and pulls a pill bottle from her bag with the words "Weekend Getaway" scrolled where a prescription should of been. I see several familiar numbers scrawled across the pills as they spill forward on Eric's dresser.

I don't know why I'm not uncomfortable— pills had always been insidious to me. Searching for life in Renee's eyes as she looks into a vast nothing, her cigarette burned down to her fingers, singing the skin. She was the living dead when she wasn't yacked— no inbetween.

I watch the memory like a movie, unaffected by the tragic image from the past of a stranger.

I enjoy it— being untouchable.

The movie is rapidly fast forwarding; I don't remember the details of Mike crushing pills and filing a line with his high school ID. But I know that the moment is pivotal— leaning forward with the dollar bill. My nostril burns, the sensation traveling down the back of my throat, leaving me with a disclgusting taste, canceling out any remaining sweetness from the Lean.

"It's the drip." Mikes whisper caresses my ear and I feel a shiver, tapping every vertebrae along my spine.

Time is strange.

We lay and listen to music. I feel what I hear, sitting up to ask Eric the name of the band that plays, the room spinning with my movement.

A kick in my stomach. Nausea lurching toward.

"Are you okay?" Bri places her hand on my knee from the foot of the bed and her touch is not there.

A dizzy queeziness sneaks upon me and I close my eyes.

No, no, no.

"Yeah. Bathroom?"

"I'll show you." Mike rises from a computer chair and offers his hand.

I take his hand, looking for a lifesaver in this angry sea. But there is no thrill or comfort that comes with his skin touching mine, not like before. I'm nervous and my head aches.

Fallowing him into the hallway only relieves me because I know I'm going to the bathroom. But this is a rocking ship and the floor shifts beneath me. I lean into him, fixing my eyes on the cross above the bathroom door, using it as a focal point.

For the second time today, I am comforted by the sight of a toilet. I don't feel like vomiting at the moment, but dropping to my knees and placing my cheek on the cool edge of the tub feels amazing.

The sink drips slowly. The mantra helps.

It takes me a moment to realize I'm no longer nauseous. What is this feeling? I listen to the sound of my heartbeat.

Flub-Blub. Was it slow?

"You eat anything today?" Mike shatters my dialogue.

Did I?

"Taco Bell," I answer "but at like 3am."

"Ahh after my party." Mike chuckles.

"Oh yeah, happy birthday by the way. I'm a dick for not saying it earlier."

Mike laughs a little harder and I watch his fingers tuck my hair behind my ear. My skin doesnt register his touch but I know my cheeks heat against the tile where my head rests.

"You're definitely Rose's sister."

What does that mean?

I turn toward him and realize I can just see a light silhouette of his face in the dark bathroom. The sun is going down; the glow of the gloomy clouds growing dimmer.

"What time is it?" I ask.

"Don't worry about the time." Mikes hand moves to my shoulder where his fingers latch. "I'm taking you home, remember?"

That's right. But when do I leave? No one is waiting for me. He doesn't have a car.

"Plus, Eric's mom is always late. She has meetings and shit." He presses.

"Yeah, I'm not worried...just wondering."

And his hand moves down my arm.

Flub-Blub speeds up.

"How old are you?"

"Fourteen." The lie slides easily out of my mouth, so unlike me.

I am Rose's sister.

"Alright."

And his hand touches my knee. Should I be nervous? Should I be excited? I am out of my body, watching Mike touch another girl. I feel nothing but the knowledge that is happening.

I had read books depicting first kisses. They envolved heat, excitement, and intensity. Was there any of that? It may be the drugs, but all I feel is the hum in my chest that has been there since the party began; no rise or fall of emotion.

A moment of anticipation perhaps.

As his chapped lips touch mine, I don't know what to do so I simply let our lips hug, mentally checking my first kiss off of my to-do list.

He leans away and smiles— leaning his forehead aganst mine.

"How far have you gone?"

His question triggers the same lurch from before.

"Uhh um."

He laughs.

We hear the front door slam, thankfully interrupting the moment. Mike snaps his head away from mine and crosses the bathroom in one step, locking the door.

The bathroom is dark now, the light from the pool outside is the only thing providing sight.

"Shit." Mike whispers.

Quick footsteps down the hall, passing us, and we hear the sound of Eric's door bursting open.

"What in the fuck are you doing!" the furious voice of a woman penitrates the silence.

Eric's mom is home.

"And who the hell is this? Put your clothes on!"

Oh.

"How could you disrespect my home like this?!"

Mike reaches down and pulls me forward, everything spins and I swallow what comes up.

"Now!"

It's all so fast. Mike pulls me forward into the hallway and we sprint towards the front door. I look back and a sobbing woman in a business suite turns toward us only for a second before screaming at Eric once again.

She doesn't care about us.

The air from outside has grown chilly and it hits my face, waking me up as we run past the pool towards the road.

Mike laughs and it's contagious.

Time is strange and it lapses.

We are at the skate park now. How did we get here?

I watch the boys flip and grind underneath street lamps, sipping vodka mixed with slush.

Euphoria.

I see the car of my sister's best friend pull up beside the gate. Rose must of sent her to pick me up.

I smile, happy to see her.

Angela emerges from her black corolla. I expect her to wave. She does not.

She's pissed as she storms forward, a tall slender sworm of anger.

"What the fuck!" She sounds like Eric's mom.

"What?"

She's in front of me now, grabbing my wrist and yanking the slush from my hand. She takes a swig and throws it to the ground.

"What are you doing here with these guys?"

I look behind her in confusion. There are two other boys with gages and tattoos. I don't recognize them. When did they join us? Mike glides out of the pit and walks toward us, board under his arm.

"Mikey!" She turns toward him.

"What's up Ang?"

"Oh don't give me that shit you little shit. Why is Bella sitting here loaded with you and some grown ass junkies?! She's fucking thirteen." She's in his face now.

"I texted my brother about her!"

"That's bullshit. Rose would never let her chill with you."

My face grows hot and this is too much right now. I jump off the brick wall and sprint toward the exit gate. I don't want anyone to see the tears welling. How can I go from being so happy to this?

I'm humiliated.

Time lapses.

How am I in Angela's car right now? My knees are bloody through my jeans.

Something is around my neck.

"Get it off!" I pull at the band.

"How fucking smashed are you Bella? Jesus, it's a seat belt."

"Shut up!"

"What did you take Bella? Tell me."

"You're not my mother." I snap back.

"Yeah, cause you're mother wouldn't give a shit. Now tell me what you've done today. You're gonna end up with a pumped stomach for fucks sake."

I ignore her. I truly don't know what she's talking about. How did I make it into this car?

"You're sister won't answer." She redilals her number on her phone.

"You should of just picked me up like you were supposed to and I wouldn't of had to go with Mike."

"Oh don't give me that shit. I know you're smarter than that. And what are you talking about?"

"After school! You were supposed to get me! I had extra credit. Rose talked to you and then Mike talked to Royce."

"Bella, if you got this loaded with Mike than I'm certain you were not in school all day. You're a shitty liar. Nothing you say makes any sense! You did not go to extra credit."

"Fuck you!"

 _Smack!_

"Look, you're lucky I was driving by and saw you. No telling where you would've slept tonight."

The sting from her slap radiates across my face.

The car has stopped in Angela's driveway.

When did it start raining?

"Look Bella," Angela faces me and I look away, pulling on the child-locked door. "You'll be in high school next year, and that means fun and partying, but those guys are on some other shit. You know that Rose doesn't take you around Royce and Mike."

"Whatever, why does Rose run with them then?"

"You think I've never slapped Rose around for pulling this same shit? You don't know your limit. And just think Bella, you're a fucking child."

I am not.

I refuse to look at her. She sighs and I hear her dial Rose's number again. She does not pick up.

"Come on," Angela sighs "you're sleeping here."

Black out.


	5. The Morning You Realized

Thanks for reading. I want to warn everyone about the drugs once again. Addiction was a part of the Twilight books with Edward and Bella's unhealthy codependent relationship and the bloodlust, but I felt like it was kind of romanticized and glossed over. This story may be hard to read if you're an addict or have ever loved one, so just a heads up. Let me know what you think.

It's Still March 2008

The fabric of Angela's canopy blocks some of the light that pierces my eyes. Her house smells like a hospital on account of her mother's compulsive cleaning, and the smell of Fabuloso and Lysol burns my nostrils.

What. In. The. Fuck.

Turning my head spurs the vertigo and something about the Pepto pink walls brings it all up.

And she's there, grabbing my hair at the nape of my neck as she guides my head into a small trash can.

"Angela?" I heave out as I retch again.

And again.

"It sucks doesn't it?"

I need to sit up, to get air. Bending my knees brings on a stinging pain. Gashes on both knobs. I'm sore all over, hissing as I move.

It takes so much effort and I weigh more than ever. When did I switch into this body?

"Careful, you really busted your ass during your dramatic exit." Angela's voice is flat. Pissed.

I have no clue what she's talking about.

"Your lucky it's a Saturday. I for sure would of dropped your ass at school. They will make fun of you for embarrassing yourself."

The confusion is creeping.

"What is going on?" The suspense of the scene is killing me.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

I open my mouth to answer and I cough instead. I can't pin point an exact point of oblivion. There are bits and pieces of laughter and spinning. A kiss. I think in pictures like a dog.

"Mike." That's all I can truly recall. The pressure on my chest increases. He was the thesis statement of the past twenty four hours but the rest of the paragraphs are unclear.

"Of course" she scoffs, "Rose is gonna be so pissed. If she would answer the fucking phone."

It's all too much— coming to; trying to connect dots that don't exist in your head.

Angela paces back and forth, Blackberry at her ear, slapping it closed and sliding it open in frustration. Her gray sweat pants and oversized shirt contrast with her girlie room that hadn't been updated since Pastor Weber died. A late 90's princess—frills, pink, troll dolls, and Presious Moment figurines. If you didnt know there was a collage of heavy metal bands and pentagrams plastered across the back of her closet door or that the flowered toy bin was now filled with booze and sexy underwear, well, it would be a fucking time capsule.

Her mouth is set in a thin line and her brows knit together. So much angst across an innocent backdrop.

An image appears when I close my eyes against the morning: the woman who's face is heavily lined for a fairly young age, mascara running. It was Eric's mom as she stood at the entrance of his room— her face and Angela's so similar.

Angela stops her panther pace and I'm grafeful. Her restlessness made me nervous, carsick from her movement as I hang over the edge of the mattress.

"God damnit Rosalie." She slams her phone down on her white vanity.

"What's going on?" It's all too much.

She sighs.

"Look Bella," oh no, "I texted Rose yesterday asking if she would take my shift and she said she would. But she no called, no showed."

Yesterday begins to wash ashore in my mind, little details appearing like shells after each wave of memory crashes and retreats.

How strange. I had missed pieces of my life.

I'm a time traveler.

"And she asked you if you would pick me up late from school?" I believe that was the plan. I guess I had fucked that up.

"Huh? No." she sits down at her vanity, face still twisted as she rests her chin on her hand, thinking. "I texted her asking if she could help out cause I had to sit the twins during moms appointment and she said she had my back. I asked her if she needed me to do anything for you, you know... like dinner, or a ride or something and she never texted back. That was like, I don't know...noonish."

Rosalie's performance at work and her communication with Angela was the life line. It's how I knew that she was okay. Not perfect... but okay.

My insides drop— the first hill on a coaster.

"You think she's off the wagon, don't you?" It didn't make sense. We spoke about the future until the sun came up and she would of slept until noon at the earliest. She makes a commitment to her best friend and flushes it with smack by lunch?

The bed dips as Angela sits back down beside me and places her hand on my shoulder. Her expression finally softens and I turn away. Pity. I would rather look for the Taco Bell in my vomit; the last thing I ate.

"Was she really ever on a wagon?"

"Oh, you know what I mean Angela!" I'm sitting up now, the pressure in my chest cancels the nausea for a moment. "My family's version of the wagon! She had a fucking job! She's off hard shit! Really!!" I'm losing the grip. The fucking grip I always had to have.

"Shhh. Yes, I know. I know." she was Rose's voluntary keeper along with myself. Of course she knew.

"Bella, just chill okay? I didn't mean to freak you out. There's no way she's fired when she's never done this. She'll get a warning." Angela speaks so fast, "She probably just got stranded somewhere and Royce didn't pick her up." She stands in front of me, full of excuses...and shit.

"Well call Royce!"

"Shut the fuck up. Okay?" Her voice is soft for such hard words. "You know my mom goes to sleep in the morning. If she sees that you threw up she will fucking cuarentine my room. And you know something? I think it's you we should all be worried about. You're lucky I drove by."

I don't want to hear this, not from her. Angela is the sad little girl who started drinking and lightly drugging over her dead daddy and everything he left behind. She got scared straight just a bit by watching her best friend spiral, but not completely: she had no room to talk. She wouldn't be able to handle half the shit we've been through. Suddenly her judgement is irrelevant in a way that I've never noticed before.

I swallow anger in one rancid gulp. All this bitterness and I still want her calming voice to reassure me, lie to me if she has to. I want her to bring me toast and ginger ale. I'm split in two; one half is unrecognizable.

"Let's not jump to conclusions. We know Rose is a flake, hard shit or not. She's probably got her phone stolen or lost."

 _Not when it comes to me_.

She always makes a call to someone, even if it isn't from her phone. She makes a plan for me before she strays, giving me a sign that she will eventually wonder home.

I think Angela knows this too.

She is up and moving toward her phone and I say nothing more, deciding to focus my attention on the pain radiating from my knees. I stare at the dried blood around the holes in my pants and inhale the coppery sent. My hips are irritated from sleeping in jeans and I want to throw up again just to ponder the way the heaves will hurt all over. All of this will feel better than picturing a blue-faced Rose with a needle in her arm. Little observations about my physical well-being keep me grounded in the moment— things like counting my breaths or digging my nails into my skin. This technique has always worked until now.

Now I know what it is to truly fast forward and skip this part. I want to find the worm hole— go back to this morning and crawl back in bed then fast forward to the part where we move into our own apartment and go in on a car together. I at least want to once again be the stranger watching the movie.

But I'm not. I'm stone cold sober in the reality of the situation, surrounded by an itch I can't scratch.

Angela dials Royce and it rings and rings.

She curses and dials my sister again as if something will change.

And it does.

When the familiar bells of Rosalie's voice ring on the other side of Angela's cell and I perk up.

 _"I'm not answering. You know what to do."—beep_.

Instant voice mail. She's not answering.

What do we do?

Something about the way Angela pulls the phone away from her face and stares at it as if she's trying to find Rose trapped inside the screen— it's different. Can Rosalie be hard to get a hold of? Yes, but like I said, it's different. Cause the smell of a true relaps hasn't been in the air. No clues were left, no cries for help, and Rose didn't do anything quietly.

Angela drops her arm to her side and slowly lowers herself into a feathery pink butterfly chair. Our eyes lock, and in that moment we become the only two people in the world who are remotely worried about Rosalie.

Something isn't right; unease, like being locked in a bathroom with Mike Newton. Angela watches as I lean over the side of the bed where the trash can rests and stick my finger down my throat, evicting regrets about yesterday.

And a fire is ignited; the gas stove in my chest heats my nerves and brings my blood to a rolling boil. It's simmering— the panic.


End file.
